


Qui Vivra Verra

by worldofborn



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Episode Tag, Episodes are sorbet and wrath of the lamb, Gen, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Kinda?, M/M, Mind Palace, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:56:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24874213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldofborn/pseuds/worldofborn
Summary: Hannibal gets drunk on the wine Will left him and comes to a couple of personal conclusions about what he wants.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 77





	Qui Vivra Verra

_I’ve got a date with the Chesapeake Ripper._

Hannibal stared where, moments before, Will had been handling a bottle of wine the same way he handled everything else: with a stuttering grace. His hand trailing up the sides of the bottle, from the widest part to the neck. Will was not a large man. Hannibal thought he might be able to cover his hand with his own completely. 

_This is really going too far,_ Hannibal thought. It had been an interesting game, but he needed to act rationally. His freedom was at stake. 

Will had left the wine bottle on the counter. Hannibal picked it up. How much money did Will make? Thirty-five thousand a year? Forty-five? Surely not more than fifty. Hannibal had come to associate the smell of cheap whiskey with Will, a scent Hannibal was surprised to find he did not hate. Surely Will wouldn’t spend more on a bottle of wine than he would on whiskey. 

Hannibal examined the label. The label was white, which was fine, but had a garish cartoon picture of a deer winking on it. It had been bottled in 2011. Hannibal was horrified to see that the wine was a red blend. 

Hannibal set the bottle back down and around him the staff continued their preparations, too polite to comment on the man who had just left, so clearly out of place. So clearly not belonging. 

Hannibal’s wine collection was vast. His basement (the section not dedicated to his "ethical butchering".) had a wine cellar that would make even the most discerning sommelier weep with joy. 

Truth be told, Hannibal preferred a blush or white to a red wine. But that didn’t mean that Hannibal didn’t have some prize bottles in his collection. Just last year he had purchased a 1949 bottle of Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru. He had been saving it for a special occasion and a particularly churlish sow. 

Still he supposed there was nothing wrong with savoring the sweetness of the gesture. There was something naive about the way Will had left his gift. It made Hannibal want to curl up around him and feed him figs and Camembert. Perhaps when Hannibal broke out the bottle of Domaine Leroy, he would invite Will to dinner, just to see his eyes light up, his mouth full of promise. 

Well, manners dictated that he accept Will’s gift, but he certainly didn’t have to drink it. He would just wait until his guests left and the catering crew had finished cleaning up and then he would pour the contents down the sink, recycle the bottle and that would be that. 

\---

The next day the wine bottle was still on the counter where he left it. Which was fine. It was a Saturday. He had no pressing appointments, some drawings to finish (perhaps he would finish his recreation of Sodama’s Wedding of Alexander the Great and Roxana), a new recipe for beef heart he wanted to try out, a new copy of Bon Appetit to read. The day stretched before him like the sunrise, filled with so much potential. 

Hannibal picked up the bottle again. The deer winked up at him. 

But surely there’d be nothing wrong if he had a small glass. He’d certainly eaten worse things, his childhood filled with years of whatever morsels he could steal or trick away from the other children. It wasn’t until he moved to Paris that his palate and wallet expanded. 

Hannibal reached for one of the wine glasses still drying next to the sink. He opened the bottle (a twist-off cap, dear god.) and poured a small amount, enough for a swallow. 

The wine had a deep color, almost black even in the morning light. He sniffed it. There was overwhelming sharpness from the acidity, but beneath that, the subtle smell of blackberry and chocolate. Perhaps a hint of vanilla. 

He knocked it back in one dizzying gulp, the way he had seen Will drink whiskey. The wine coated his tongue. There was blackberry, yes, and vanilla. Some spices, but too insignificant to make out. But overwhelming what Hannibal tasted was the bitterness, like an animal hyperventilating before death. 

It was flat. Ghastly. He wanted to wash his mouth out with one of his bottles of Zenato Amarone. He wanted to dump the rest of it down the drain, where it belonged. 

Hannibal poured himself another glass. 

\--

An hour later and Hannibal had moved from the kitchen to the couch in the living room, and then from the couch to the floor, his back resting against the couch, one leg kicked out and the other tucked toward him. The day had dripped onward. Now it was nearing ten o clock and the mid morning sun strewn out over his legs. At some point he had lost the wine glass, it had rolled under the couch. He tried to take another drink straight from the bottle, but it was empty. Hannibal set it down and picked at the edge of one of the couch cushions. The fabric was fraying. He’d have to get it replaced. He wanted more wine. 

It was ridiculous. It was swill and still he had drunk it fast. He felt a hiccup boiling in his throat but kept his mouth closed. 

“I’m not drunk, I’m just a little off-kilter” he said aloud, to the empty room. Despite his best efforts, he hiccuped. 

“Wow,” Will’s voice said next to him. “I thought such human reactions were beneath you.”

Hannibal turned to the source. Will was there, smiling at him in an easy way the real Will never did. He looked exactly as he did when Hannibal last saw him except relaxed. As if for once, his mind was quiet. Like the world had bled out of him. 

Hannibal frowned. “You aren’t really here.” 

“Very good, Dr. Lecter.” Will’s grin stretched across his face. 

“So I conjured you here.” Will nodded. That in itself was off. Hannibal hadn’t constructed a place for Will in his mind palace yet. “Why?”

“Well, you called me here,” Fake-Will said, “so I can’t say for certain, but I can guess.”

“Why then?” Hannibal fiddled with the label on the bottle. The deer mocked him. 

Finally, the memory Will stopped smiling. Slowly, as if placating an animal he said, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

That made him listen. Hannibal set the bottle down. For a moment he had forgotten the real Will wasn’t here with him, so perfect was his copy, in looks at least. If Will knew that Hannibal was even capable of killing him, that would be it. The game would end. 

“I want to know what would happen-I’ve put a lot of work into Will and if I killed him that would be it-”

The fake Will laughed. It was louder and fuller bodied than the usual sardonic sound. “Yes, I suppose this is the most fun you’ve had in years, although I don’t know why. You’re playing chess against an opponent who thinks he’s playing checkers.”

Hannibal thought about his schemes. There were a couple of different options there, but he was still waiting to see what Will would do. Hannibal didn’t know, but suspected, that Will would rise to the challenge admirably. 

“He’ll find out what sort of game we’re playing soon enough.” Hannibal couldn’t put so much effort into setting Will up just to watch him fall, and then not tip his hand. His vanity wouldn’t allow it. 

Will stood up, crossed the room, and seemed to study his fireplace. Even his back was perfect, though covered up with a coat. 

“Let’s see. The way I see it, you have two choices. Expose yourself, risking capture, or you can kill me. Snap my neck. Plant my body on Franklyn’s friend. Or with Tier. It wouldn’t even hurt. In fact, it’d be almost polite.” 

Hannibal felt more sober than he did a minute ago. “I don’t want to,” he said, frowning, “I don’t want to kill Will.”

The fake Will turned back to him, a small smirk, as if Hannibal had just given away the game. “You’re risking your whole life for what? A sweaty man who thinks a three dollar bottle of wine is an acceptable gift? Hannibal, he’s not on your level. He doesn’t belong in either of your worlds” Will laughed again, though this time it was cynical. “Imagine taking him to the opera. They’d eat him alive.”

Hannibal said nothing. 

“There will be new games. New people to play with.”

“No there won’t,” Hannibal said, “Not like him. Will is unique. I will never meet anyone like him again.”

Hannibal went back to the couch and sat down on it this time. His hands clasped together, he leaned forward on his knees. There was something there, a realization at the edge of his mind.

Speaking off, Fake Will was in front of him, looming over Hannibal, and close, so close that if the real Will had been here, Hannibal would have caught his scent. The sweet sour smell of his sickness and sweat, the aftershave, but then underneath that: whiskey, chestnut, motor oil, dog hair. 

Will sat down next to him, but not to close. “What do you want, Hannibal?” 

Will said it quietly, but Hannibal felt the question echo in his ribcage. 

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

Hannibal sighed. This hadn’t happened in a long time. Maybe never. Probably never. He felt sick. The fake Will was leaning towards him, close, so close. 

“I want Will. I want him to see me. I want him to want me. I don’t want him to die, because I prefer the world with him in it. I want Will to realize what he could be, what we could be together. I don’t want him to leave-” and this was the wine talking, it had to be- “I don’t want to be alone.”

Will looked like the cat who had got his cream. He was half-laying on Hannibal now, and even though he wasn’t there, Hannibal could feel him in a way he would never felt the real Will. Hannibal’s hands encircled the his waist, but he didn’t push him back. Will’s eyes were half lidded, the blue a small ring around black irses blown wide. Hannibal was certain the real Will would never look at him like this. The fake Will leaned in, and kissed Hannibal. His lips were soft and dry, and Hannibal hugged him closer, so that he could feel the line of his body against his own. 

“Do you love me?” Will asked

“No I don’t.”

“But you could. Does that scare you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then find a way to keep me. You won’t have to be scared then.” Hannibal closed his eyes. It wouldn’t be impossible to keep Will, and let him know what he really was. It was inevitable. 

When he opened his eyes again the fake Will was gone. The wine bottle was still on the floor. 

A change of plans was in order. He would set aside some time to compose. Maybe he would invite Jack over for dinner, he loved baiting him.

But first, he needed a shower. 

\--

_It’s beautiful._

After so many years Hannibal had almost lost faith, but there, on the cliff’s edge, Will was with him. _You are beautiful,_ he wanted to say, _look at what we made, together._

But there was no need, Will understood. Hannibal clung to him. Even as he felt Will start to move them over the cliff, Hannibal didn’t let go. 

What he had failed to realize five years ago and then again in Florence, was that he could not trap Will, or consume him. He was undone. He had lost this game since the moment he couldn’t kill Will. Perhaps before that. 

Hannibal felt Will begin to tilt them forward. The ocean beneath him, promising nothing, and still he held on to Will, knew that there was no force in the world that would make him let go. He inhaled. Will smelled like blood, so much blood, but underneath that, chestnut and dog hair. Hannibal swallowed. He tasted wine. 

Maybe Will meant for them to survive this cliff top plunge. Maybe he didn’t. 

Hannibal closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always had the headcanon that Will bought Hannibal a laughably cheap bottle of wine and that Hannibal drank it anyways because even then he was head over heels about Will and that Hannibal knew they were going over a cliff and let it happen. This is both of those explored, kind of. Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Anyways, this is my first step back into fanfiction in over a decade, so tell me what you think! :) [Come say hi on my tumblr](https://a-world-of-born.tumblr.com/)


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